Wildcat: A Forbidden Sports Romance (Wildcat Hockey Book 1)

In Arizona, one of the girls on the media team gets sick, and I fill in with the pre and post-game interview setup and teardown. Even doing the grunt work, it’s amazing to see everything that goes into it. The only downside is that I miss a lot of the game, including a goal by Leo.

We’re staying in Arizona again tonight and heading to the final game on this road trip in the morning. My phone rings as I’m getting out of the shower, and the name on the screen makes my heart race.

On the third ring, I swipe it and answer hesitantly, “Hello?”

“Hey.” Leo’s deep voice answers. “Did I wake you?”

“No, you just caught me off guard by calling. Ballsy, Leo Lohan.”

“I was afraid I’d fall asleep mid-text.”

I can hear the exhaustion in that deep rasp. “Maybe you should sleep then.”

“I’m not playing tomorrow. Besides, I wanted to hear you congratulate me on my goal tonight.”

“Wow,” I say with a laugh. His responding deep chuckle makes me smile. “Congratulations. I saw a replay.”

“I heard they had you in the interview room. Man, I hate that room. Though, if I’d known you were working it tonight, I might have offered myself up.”

I’m silent, unsure what to say, and a little scared to fall into easy conversation so quickly. This can’t happen, and talking to him is just going to make it harder.

“What room are you in?” he asks.

“I’m not telling you that.” I pull on shorts and a T-shirt while holding the phone to my ear.

“I’m not going to break in. I might want to bring coffee in the morning.”

My stomach flutters. “I have a coffee machine in my room.”

“It isn’t the same.”

He’s right about that. “Room three oh three.”

“We’re on the same floor. I’m in three forty two.”

He’s so close.

“My dad is next door.”

“Right,” he says, then falls quiet.

“You must be tired.” I fake a yawn. “I know I am.”

He emits a low, quiet chuckle. “Kicking me off the phone already?”

I don’t answer.

“What are you doing when we get back tomorrow night?”

“Sleeping.” We’re not set to arrive back in Minnesota until midnight.

“Monday?”

“I’m working.”

“You don’t get the day off with the rest of us?”

“I’m not working at the arena.”

“Oh. The bar?”

“Sort of. Mike has a liquor rep that needed someone to do a promotion for a new flavored vodka. It’s just for a few hours at this new paintball bar downtown.” I think he feels bad for not giving me more hours at the bar. Regardless, I appreciate it.

“I’ve heard of that place. Sounds awesome. What about after?”

“You have a game Tuesday.”

“Keeping track of my schedule?”

“Your schedule is my job.”

His laughter makes me giddy.

“Go out with me Monday night.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not? I used my phone and everything.”

“Because I don’t date athletes.”

“What about college guys who play hockey to pay the bills?” A quiet knock on my door follows his question.

My pulse races as I pad to the door and open it a crack. There he is. Phone to his ear, Leo rests his free hand on the wall and stares at me with a breathtaking look that makes goosebumps dot my arm.

I drop my phone and open the door wider. “You can’t be here.”

“I know,” he says. “I just wanted to say good night in person.”

My heart lurches as he takes my hand and interlaces our fingers.

“Leo, I—” I start, then swallow. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“I know.” A pained expression crosses his face. He runs his thumb along my index finger. “Night, Scarlett.”

“Night, Leo.”

In the morning, there’s coffee waiting outside my door.

The last day of our trip is uneventful. I hate myself a little for admitting this, but it isn’t nearly as exciting to watch the team when Leo isn’t playing. We get back late Sunday, and I don’t hear from Leo again via text or phone call.

Monday afternoon, I get to the paintball bar fifteen minutes early with two army-sized duffel bags. One is filled with bottles of vodka, and the other has shirts, hats, buttons, and other merchandise.

The bar is an old warehouse and just opened this summer. Inside, people are playing paintball on the right side, beyond a metal wall. The sound of playful screams and laughter drifts out. Music plays on the left in the bar area, and there’s a patio behind that.

After I find the manager and she points me to a table outside on the patio where I can set up, I get to work. I have everything out and ready to go and am digging for the uniform, if we can call it that—black spandex shorts and a tight tank top with the logo splashed across the front.

I start toward the bathroom only to find a CLOSED FOR CLEANING sign and a woman inside talking on the phone while she mops the floor. She speaks in Spanish, I think. I don’t understand her words, but the shooing motion she makes with her hand is crystal clear.

With a sigh, I glance down at my skirt and T-shirt.

Leo steps into my path as I’m deciding between going back out to my car or doing some quick under/over changing maneuvers right here in the bar.

My breath catches, and I freeze in my spot. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d come try the…” He squints. “What kind of vodka did you say you were promoting?”

“I didn’t say.”

“Are you already done?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m just getting started if I can find somewhere to change.”

This is surreal. Leo Lohan tracked me down at my job.

“Well, come on. You can grab some free merch before it gets busy.”

He follows me outside and looks over the table. He holds up a bottle. “Caramel apple vodka? That sounds disgusting.”

It really, really does.

“Better keep those thoughts to yourself.” I take one of the hats and plop it on his head. It’s a really ugly hat, but on him, it doesn’t look bad at all. “Make yourself useful and keep lookout.”

I shimmy the black spandex up and under my skirt. Leo’s brows rise. “You’re changing out here?” He looks around.

“The bathroom is closed.” I unzip the skirt and push it down my legs. Leo keeps looking at me. “You’re a terrible lookout.”

“I think I misunderstood what a lookout does.”

Laughing, I pull off my T-shirt and toss it in Leo’s face, then tug the tank down over my boobs. It’s so tight it’s squishing the girls. I pull the material down over my stomach and then reach in and rearrange my boobs, so they peek out over the top.

“Okay. Ready.” I look at Leo and find his gaze on my chest.

“That’s what you’re wearing? You look… naked.” His voice is low and thick. He reaches over and tries to pull up the tank, but the power of cleavage and a great pushup bra is no match for the cotton material.

“I’m selling flavored vodka at a paintball bar. Looking like this is the whole point.”

I pour him a small shot and offer it to him. He sniffs, makes a face, but then drinks it. “Not awesome.”

“You have the day off?” I ask. Dad wasn’t home when I left, so I assume there’s something happening at the arena today, even though he told me not to worry about coming in.

The team has their first home game tomorrow. Mom calls the week of camp, and those next few weeks after it, blackout month because that’s how little we see my father at home. Even when practices are over, and the team is in town, he spends long days and late nights at the office.

“Sort of.” He checks the time on his watch. “I have until six, and then I need to get back to the arena for a meeting with Coach—”

“My dad?”

He smiles. “Yeah.”

It’s early still, that awkward time after lunch and before happy hour. Leo hangs by my side and even helps me hand out the free merchandise. He pulls the hat down low over his eyes like he wore it the other night.

We wander around passing out free shots, but that doesn’t take very long since the bar is so empty, and I find myself outside alone with Leo Lohan.

“Not a bad gig.”

“I’m just filling in. The girl who usually does it had something come up and needed a few hours of coverage. I still need to find something with more hours.”

“What about your photography? Any jobs there?”

“I’m not ready for that. I still have so much to learn. I signed up for a free online class, and I’m practicing when I can. Last weekend I went to Owlsen Park and shot photos of a dog birthday party.” I don’t know why I’m telling him all of this, but being with him like this—just the two of us—makes me nervous and babble, apparently.

He nods, crosses one leg over the other, and leans against the building. “I went to a wedding there last summer.”

“It’s beautiful, and there’s always something going on there. Birthday parties, weddings, families hanging out. It’s great for working with different lightings and elements.”

“Sounds nice.”

“How do you spend Saturdays?”

“Playing hockey, getting ready to play hockey, or on the road somewhere to play hockey.”

I roll my eyes and sample the caramel apple vodka. Interesting, but not as bad as I expected. “What about in the off-season?”

He’s struggling to come up with an answer, twisting his face up and bouncing his head side to side.

“This is truly pathetic. Do you like to do anything that doesn’t revolve around hockey?”

His heated gaze falls over my cleavage and down past my skimpy shorts. I would love to pretend I’m unaffected by it, by him, but I’m not. He places a hand at my hip. His fingers brush underneath the tank onto my stomach.

“You should get out more, broaden your horizons.” I pull away from Leo’s grasp. “Funny thing happened this morning.”

He slides his hands in his pockets. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I went to pay for my car, and someone had already taken care of it.”

His lips twitch with a smile he doesn’t let free.

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Nah. Frankie loves working on Hondas, though.”

I roll my eyes. “Thank you. It wasn’t necessary, but thank you.”

He dips his head. “Welcome.”

A group of guys wander outside. Fresh from paintball, some of them are still covered in it.

“Free shots?” I ask, holding up the bottle.

They crowd around, and I pour sample sizes into the small, plastic shot cups. They’re good sports, trying it even though they all agree it sounds awful.

“It’s like Halloween in my mouth,” one of them says and goes for a second.

“Is that a good thing?” I ask and look to Leo. He’s inched back, and I realize too late why he’s suddenly gone shy.

The closest guy is staring straight at him with wide eyes. “No way. Leo Lohan. What are you doing here? Are you endorsing the booze?”

“Uhh.” He looks to me for help.

“No,” I say, quickly, “I saw him and begged him for an autograph. Does anyone have a marker?”

“I bet someone at the bar does,” one of the guys says as he walks backward. “I’ll go check. I want one too.”

In seconds, someone has a Sharpie, and they gather around Leo to get him to sign autographs. It would do me well to remember this is who he is—not my hot Leo that I met at a bar, but Leo Lohan, star hockey player.

The bar starts to pick up, and I hand out more samples while the crowd around Leo refuses to let him go. When Lanie, the girl I’m covering for, shows up, I’m ready to leave, but Leo’s still stuck in the same group of guys, except more have joined. I slide between them and wrap my hand around his arm.

“Sorry, guys. I need to get my autograph before I leave.” I pull him without waiting for a response.

Inside, I finally stop and check him over. My dad will be pissed at me if I get one of his players hurt right before the season. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He laughs it off.

“That happens a lot?”

“Often enough.”

“I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

“I’m a big boy. I can handle myself.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He narrows his gaze. “What are you up to, Scarlett Miller?”

I tug him backward toward the paintball room. “Broadening your horizons.”